And Thanksgiving dinner? It was her favorite meal.
So it only seems natural that she be top of mind as the mother and I prepare to bake some pumpkin pies. I got out her plates – like I do every year – and started setting out the ingredients earlier while the mother was on the phone with a friend. At least one of these plates has been in use for at least my entire life and maybe as much as a decade or two longer. The other was a replacement for one broken a few years before her death. (Which, as time passes, makes me a little paranoid as I use them each year. Even if they are just plain ole Pyrex, they're priceless to me.)
These days, the plates only get used at the holidays and only for pumpkin pies. During Gram’s time though, there was an occasional apple, but the cherry pie reigned supreme. She made them for me all the time. When we weren’t living with my grandparents and I would come to stay for the occasional weekend, she would call me up to tell me when she put the pie in the oven. One time, she did this on a Thursday night, the night before I would get there.
I spent that whole day at school thinking about that pie. When I got there that night, I was met by a very solemn grandmother and Young Tom, grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat. Why? HE ATE THE WHOLE PIE. The WHOLE pie. Not even a crumb left. (I told you that old man was mean. And that was him on a good day.)
So here they are again. The pie plates – just as empty as they were that Friday night so very long ago. I guess I’m going to have to go do something about that.
Here’s lookin’ at you, Gram.